


Convergence

by 8ball



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Gods, M/M, Original Character(s), Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ball/pseuds/8ball
Summary: For the talented Cae, who's characters Han and Leigh are a treat to write!
Relationships: Han/Leigh
Kudos: 3





	Convergence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epinephrine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epinephrine/gifts).



> For the talented Cae, who's characters Han and Leigh are a treat to write!

-o-

_ Have I met you before? _

The question sits on the tip of his tongue as his fingers twitch, as if his muscles remember what he’s forgotten. It makes him want to reach out and he recoils at the idea, shocked that the thought would even cross his mind. The person in front of Leigh is a stranger, after all. 

Absently, he brushes his fingertips against the smooth stone of his necklace, drawing comfort from the familiar red shape. The stranger’s eyes (blue, how are they  _ so  _ blue) flick down to his neck, following the movement. All at once Leigh comes back to himself, silently berating his lack of attention, fumbling to kneel and help the other man with his spilled (and now bruised) vegetables. 

“I am  _ so _ sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going.” He gushes, trying to be gentle as he puts a scuffed carrot back into the basket. “If anything is too damaged or ruined I can pay-

“That isn't necessary.” The man falls to his knees beside him, offering a kind, gentle smile. He picks up a cucumber with quick grace, nabbing an onion just before another market shopper steps on it. All around them people part ways to avoid colliding with their lowered forms. Both men finish collecting the fallen goods in silent efficiency, and Leigh stands, offering the other his hand. Still smiling, the blue-eyed stranger takes it. 

“Thank you for the help.” He says, tucking a strand of sunset-purple hair behind his ear. It's an entirely innocent gesture, but it's hypnotizing on someone so beautiful. Leigh hopes he isn't staring too obviously. 

“Well, it  _ was _ my fault they fell in the first place.” Leigh says, giving a sheepish smile. The stranger smiles again, this time wide enough to make his eyes crinkle.

“And what is the name of my collider and savior, so that I may reprimand and thank him properly?” He says with a small laugh. 

“Leigh.” The brunette says, breathless. “You can call me Leigh.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Leigh taking note of the travel bag on the man, the slightly sun-kissed sheen to his skin. Those blue eyes flick down to Leigh’s necklace again, then back up. 

“And you,” he says, suddenly looking a little tired, a little sad, “can call me Han.”

  
  


-o-

  
  


Leigh doesn't need to go to the market everyday. Quite frankly, he doesn't have the money to be going to the market everyday, and he doesn't  _ need _ to. There is no justifiable reason to be continuously browsing spices and apples for all hours of the day when he  _ could _ be trying to earn money, or even planning his next journey. 

But Han appears just as daily, and for that, Leigh doesn't mind spending the rest of his savings on cinnamon butter or vanilla honey. 

It's not as if Leigh is  _ stalking _ him. It’s an open market after all. So maybe he spends far too much time watching the sway of violet hair in his peripheral vision, but that's not a crime. On more than one occasion their eyes meet, and a sweet flush blooms on Han’s face as he jerks his head away in embarrassment. It dawns on Leigh then that maybe the other man doesn't need to be at the market everyday either. 

It becomes a kind of game, to find each other. He spots Han behind a flower stall, fingers brushing over sprigs of lavender. Even surrounded by brightly colored hordes of people and wares, he stands out like something bright. When he looks up, he looks right at Leigh, as if he knew the man was there, watching. His smile is a playful, pretty thing, and makes Leigh’s heart beat so wildly he has to retreat behind a booth of lanterns. He weaves himself around people carrying enormous sacks of flour and rice, a horse being unloaded, a merchant selling hand embroidered rugs. He thumbs the page of a journal made from stout root and elder bark, feeling eyes on his back. When he looks up, Han is pawing through a selection of scarfs, not even trying to hide his grin. They continue this dance for days. 

_ Have I met you before?  _ He wants to ask it again and again, but he feels like such a coward, flitting around ornaments and food and beautiful clothes. Where would he have met Han, and how would he have possibly forgotten? His name and face don't sting Leigh like a resurfaced memory, rather, his smile is like a song he’s heard before. There is a feeling in his chest like a hot summer breeze, and it's nearly suffocating. 

“I understand, sir, but the price is still unreasonable.” Han says smoothly, not cowed by the trader's greater height and stern face. Leigh watches from the side of his usual fruit stall, abandoning the pears to step a bit closer. 

“And how would you know the price of highland cotton, boy?” The trader crosses his arms, never taking his eyes off Han. 

“I have been to the highlands, sir. I have even been to the capital. You could buy feathered silk there for the price you’re selling this cotton as.” Han says. 

Leigh and the trander raise their brows at the same time. Few travelers venture to the highlands, and fewer still make the trek to the capital city there. 

“If you’ve been in those city walls, then tell me the color of the mosaic along the northern wall.” The trader’s eyes gleam with something a little mean, and Leigh frowns. But Han simply smiles, his hands relaxed at his side. 

“There is no wall to the north.” He says. “Only the sea, which is blue.”

The trader barks out a laugh and uncrosses his arms. Leigh stares at Han with open admiration, his own grin threatening to split his face. 

“Alright, you got me. Name your price!”

-o-

  
  


“That,” Leigh begins, still unable to shake the grin off his face. “Was impressive.” 

Han folds the cloth neatly before tucking it away in his bag, looking content. He turns to give Leigh a brilliant smile, shrugging a bit. 

“It's not anything special to simply know things, is it?” He asks, moving that same illusive strand of hair behind his ear. 

“It is if the things you know are special.” Leigh says, just as captivated by the motion as he was the first time. He didn't know it was possible for humans to move like poured honey. 

“I’m sure you have tales to tell that are just as impressive.” Han says.

“Compared to the highlands?” Leigh chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don't think I could even call what I do traveling compared to you.”

They continue to meander around stalls for a moment, letting the commotion of sales and negotiations wash over them. 

“What if I want to hear about it anyways?” Han murmurs, eying a golden-threaded satchel on display. 

Leigh thinks his own tales are as simple as they come, all about the vastness of the wild and the harshness of wind, and he’d hardly even been  _ far _ . But if Han wanted to listen, who was Leigh to pass up the opportunity to finally sit by the man and talk? Wasn't that what he’d been chasing? An excuse to be, if only a little bit, closer?

“Then I would be delighted.” Leigh says, smiling. The way Han smiles back feels like facing direct sunlight, blinding and glorious. 

-o-

  
  


Maybe it's because he’s seen the world in segments that felt very big, but he’s come to understand that he was very small. That he, Leigh, could walk for a hundred years and never be the height of a mountain or the length of a valley. Magic existed in all forms, and he’d been lucky to record a grain of it, but the raw natural power of the world in itself was so very tremendous. That there was an exquisiteness in every sunset that he  _ could _ appreciate more, but sometimes glanced over because the day had been long, and his body was weary. 

Now there is Han and there is no glancing over with him. There is only the consumption of his image and the hunger for more, the taste of his words inspiring appetite. Any one man who had stories of wandering from the edge of the universe would be captivating, surely, but someone so young, so  _ unhardened-  _ that was surprising. The way he still smiled gently despite seeing every corner of poverty and every inch of war. The way he was not selfish in his nature and shared the secrets of hidden caves and shortcuts. The way he was open, maybe not like a book, but like a painting. What would it be like, Leigh wondered, to live behind the eyes that had seen such things. 

He finds himself longing less for the knowledge of travel and culture though, and more simply for Han to talk. Leigh’s own stories took up less than a full day and ended right where he was, in a humble town with plenty of reasonable prices that was a little too comfortable to stay in, despite the lack of actual magical study to be made. He wasn't willing to spin tales of grandeur and he wasn't willing to embellish details. Where he had walked he had found beauty in the honest simplicity of nature, and he wanted Han to hear the truth of that simplicity, despite its lack of excitement. The fact that Han let him prattle on about a particular wall of  _ runes _ indicated either that Han shared this appreciation or he had the patience of a saint. 

They meet in the mornings by the fruit seller, and those mornings bleed into afternoons where the smell of street food reminds them of the passing hours. They talk about the size of boulders and ancient trees and languages that sound made up. Evenings separate them to their respective inns, with the promise of the coming morning. 

Leigh wants to extend those mornings and afternoons and evenings into an endless loop. He could live off of the way the other man lifts his elegant hands up to demonstrate how big a melon was, or the upturn of his lips at the memory of the children in the last town. 

“But weren't you lonely?” Leigh asks, folding himself into the light of Han’s eyes. 

Han gives him a soft, small smile that feels on the cusp of cold. As if Leigh had finally overstepped, and thrown them back into the truth of the matter, which was that they were barely more than strangers.

“Are you worried about me, Leigh?” Han asks, drawing his knees up against his chest and tilting his head. He’s teasing of course, but Leigh wants to take his hand in his and say  _ yes _ with a conviction that's frightening. 

“I’m just saying, the world is a big place and it sounds like you’re a rather professional vagabond.” Leigh smiles and picks at the grass by his feet, turning to look over the expanse of the town. “I know I haven't seen nearly as much as you have, but- I don't know. Don't you want to  _ share  _ it?”

When he turns back Han is giving him such a tender look that it nearly breaks Leigh open. There is such  _ heartbreak _ in the man’s smile that Leigh feels obliged to kneel and offer the universe on a platter, if only to get rid of that kind of sorrow. 

“I’m sharing it with you, aren't I?” Han asks softly. 

_ Maybe I don't want a share though,  _ Leigh thinks.  _ Maybe I want the whole thing from you. _

He imagines waking up at sunrise to see that purple hair tangled from sleep, reaching across the short distance and touching Han’s shoulder, saying wake up, we’ve got to get moving soon. Maybe Han would be the one to wake Leigh up, using those long, delicate-looking fingers to brush his arm and say  _ good morning _ . Maybe at night they would curl into their respective blankets and look at each other from across a small distance, and Leigh would say  _ I can see all the stars in your eyes _ . Maybe Han would smile at that, a  _ real _ smile, and lean a little closer-

Leigh shakes himself, feeling young and foolish as he tears his gaze away from the other traveler. 

“I’m sorry, that was- I just thought-” Han looks away, an embarrassed flush spreading over his cheeks. “Ignore me.”

Leigh realizes his silence has been taken as discomfort, as a  _ rejection _ of sorts, and he swallows the butterflies climbing up his throat as he grabs Han’s fluttering hand. 

He wants to say something witty and charming, but he’s struck dumb by the weight of the soft palm kissing his skin, of the delicacy of the wrist that disappears under draping fabric. There is no greater an intimacy than the way those thin, almost pale fingers brush his sun-rugged knuckles. Leigh is at a loss of words, breathless by the rightness of that weight in his grasp.

“I want to share it with you too.” He breathes. There's a soft breeze on his back, as if asking him to keep going. He swallows. He doesn't know what he’s even talking about. “I want-”

But he doesn't know what he wants. Leigh’s only ever been one of the many who wander in pursuit of knowledge, and he’s been content, so why is it not enough anymore? He’s not some old man grown tired of adventures and spell scribing, and he’s certainly not tied to this little nowhere town that’s just like any other. There’s a feeling like a missing limb crawling up his skin and burning his neck, and he fingers his necklace. 

“Where are you heading after here?” Han asks, eyes bright. Leigh has to swallow. 

“Nowhere really.” Leigh replies immediately, leaning forwards a little. “Anywhere.”

Han’s hand grips his with conviction, tendons pulled taught. 

“What if you headed west?”

That gentle breeze is back, moving around them like hundreds of tiny fans. The grass at their feet stir, but the nearby trees remain still. 

“West?” Leigh doesn't know what’s to the west except the far city of Ridge Point and a few valley passes where bandits were rumored to occupy. He isn't opposed to the idea of going there.

“What if  _ we _ headed west. Together.” Han says, looking a little unsure again. His eyes flick down to Leigh’s necklace, a strange habit. 

And isn't that a concept. This strange, unending need to walk beside Han and feel his eyes and hear his voice, transitioned to something more than these quick and limited conversations. They could take their time on the road, trading questions and laughing at nothing and seeing the way the world bent under time. Maybe Leigh would learn the origin of this beautiful man, and come to know him as more than a stranger, maybe even more than a simple companion. 

“I think I’d like that very much, mr. vagabond.” He says. It's a vast understatement, but Han lights up like there are embers under his skin, and Leigh can only smile. 

(Their hands remain attached long after the sun sets.)

  
  


-o-

  
  


They set out at sunrise three days later, carefully replenishing their packs and thanking inn keepers. Leigh tends to stay in each town a week or less, but this one he dawdled in for the better part of a month. He helped out in the bakery, unloading sacks of flour, and took over the kitchen duties in his inn one night. He’s always liked to help and feel like a rest was earned, but staying any longer would have made him restless, and he is more than happy to follow Han down the little path, away for a long time coming. 

They talk about nothing. They talk about  _ everything _ . Where Leigh liked traveling to the best and where he learned to play the flute badly. Where Han learned to read the old runic alphabet and where he ate the best meals for the lowest price. The songs the birds sang in the east, and the flowers in the south. A recipe for mooncakes from an island town that’s name was long forgotten, and it's people only a rumor. 

Leigh had thought that someone as traveled and learned as Han would find parts of their journey boring. That a man who had seen ice freeze over deserts at night and green and blue dance at the southern pole would turn away with a flat look over the plain valleys and gentle stars. The opposite couldn't be more true. Han becomes something indescribable in the light of worldly colors, at the touch of first light and the setting of the sun. Every sunrise is something to behold for both of them; for Han because it’s a cherished beauty, and for Leigh because Han is an additional beauty. The brunette is well aware that every passing day puts his heart in a steadfast trajectory towards falling hard for Han, but why try to stop it? Han is kind and smart and lovely, and Leigh is only human. 

They walk along the feaster’s ruins, on the edge of what is supposed to be a dragon boneyard but is only a valley of white stone. They touch the moss-covered buildings where kings were said to once hold banquets, watching the way the ornate designs fell away with every breeze. They camp there for the night, and maybe it’s sacrilege to sleep by so many memories, but the ghosts leave them alone long after Han puts out the fire. At night, the stars vivid and the air a little cold, Leigh watches the up and down motion of his new companion breathing deep and steady. The next thing he knows it's morning, and the sunrise is only more beautiful than the last. 

“Do you think there’s a god for every river, or just the large ones?” Leigh asks, untying his shoes as they prepare to cross a clear little stream. It stretches along for miles according to their map, empty of anything except stones.

“I’d say it's more about how the river comes to be.” Han hums, tucking his own boots over the side of his bag and folding his pants up neatly. “Any large river can be beautiful and divine in it's own way, but imagine how special a river is that was created by the earth splitting apart, or the glaciers melting. Wouldn't you want to watch over one of those for all eternity over a simple puddle creek?”

Leigh laughs, biting his tongue to keep from yelping as he puts a foot in the cold water. He wiggles his toes around and takes another step, the smooth rocks under his bare feet treacherously slippery. He turns and holds out a hand for Han. 

“I’d rather be a mountain god, personally. I’d feel less stagnant if I had a great view all around.” 

No sooner does he say that then a new current pushes at his feet, nearly sending him tipping over. Two steady hands ground him quickly, and Leigh and Han chuckle together. 

“Insulting the river gods while  _ in  _ a river probably isn't the wisest decision.” Han says, smiling cheekily. Leigh flushes, ducking his head a little as Han’s soft fingers loosen around his wrists, drawing away with a lingering brush. 

“Ah, but I have you here to save me.” He replies, giving an exaggerated wink towards Han. 

“I have absolutely no desire to fight a river god, and your good looks don't change that.” Han says, grinning around a slight flush on his cheeks. Leigh nearly slips again, delighted at such a response. 

“Really? And I couldn't use my devilishly handsome looks to persuade you?” Leigh brushes some of the fly away hair from his face, tilting his chin back a little and batting his eyes. He’s going for a laugh and, hopefully, a bit more of a blush from the other man. Maybe if he’s extraordinarily lucky he’ll get a shy, sweet look. 

Instead, his right foot loses the entirety of its footing in one quick moment, and he totters dramatically before falling with a spectacular splash. 

“ _ Oh!  _ Oh my-!” Han makes a valiant effort to be concerned before bursting out in laughter, his two hands coming up to try and muffle it. “Oh, I am so sorry, Leigh!” He gets out, still giggling. 

Leigh sits, stunned for a moment before looking up to watch the interesting spectacle of Han looking horrified at his own amusement. Grinning wickedly, Leigh very slowly gets to his feet. 

“Han, my  _ dear _ friend,” He purrs, the cold water dripping unpleasantly down his back. “Let me give you a  _ hug _ .”

Han yelps as Leigh makes a dive for him, no longer concerned with getting himself any wetter. Gracefully, Han manages to dip out of the way while the brunette continues to fumble and flop. Laughing loudly, the purple-haired man skips to the shore, not bothering to retie his shoes as he picks up speed on solid land. Laigh makes it to the bank with all the grace of a dead fish, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. 

-o-

  
  


It's in this way that Leigh learns it's perfectly acceptable to flirt with his new traveling companion. Han, to Leighs utter delight, either blushes right to his ears or laughs at the attention. Sometimes though, if the stars are aligned in Leigh’s favor, Han will flirt back. 

They’ve only been traveling for a little over two weeks but Leigh already feels like his chest has been torn wide open to reveal the insides. He’s told Han the details of his childhood and the fears he harbors when his eyes close, and he wonders if he’s being foolish. It's an easy thing to admit he’s fallen in love with Han, but that doesn't mean it's smart. Surely other people have before, and Leigh isn't special, but he’s by Han’s side now and he’s going to make the most of it.

Leigh has no idea when or even  _ if _ he should try to move their easy, natural friendship into something a little more, but he  _ is _ confident that at the very least, Han is not entirely  _ dis _ interested. They have a spark of something, and it's in the way they can talk to each other like they’ve known each other for decades. It's an incredible connection really, and Leigh’s not so foolish that he would turn a blind eye to something so wonderful. 

“Would you look at  _ that _ .” He breathes, taking in the enormous, sparkling lake. They’re both exhausted from the steep hike, but the promise of a camp by fresh water had been a good motivator. 

“It’s just as beautiful as I remember it.” Han says beside him. 

“When did you come here last?” Leigh asks, adjusting his pack as they fall into step, moving towards the water's edge. Beside him, Han hums softly. 

“Oh, it's been a long time. A friend showed me this place a whole lifetime ago.” Han jokes, tugging the chain on his neck to pull out his necklace.

Leigh had been surprised when he’d first seen it, a week or so back. Both his and Han’s were so similar it seemed like a strange coincidence. When he’d pointed it out, Han had smiled that slightly sad smile of his, saying his necklace was a keepsake to remind him of a friend. Now, Leigh wondered if this was the same special friend mentioned. It brought up an ugly bit of jealousy in the man. 

“Sorry they’re missing it now, I suppose.” Leigh says casually. Han shrugged, turning to look at him.

“It's ok. Besides, I’m always looking forward to making new memories with him.”

Leigh feels like he’s taken a bite of something very bitter. He feels horrible over that bitterness, and he’d like to think he’s a better man than that, but, well. He is only human. 

“How lovely.” Leigh says, unable to hide the slight flatness of his voice. Han raises a brow at him.

“Are you alright?” Han asks, waiting for Leigh to take a step so they can walk beside each other again. Leigh looks away. 

“No- I mean  _ yes _ , sorry. I’m sure you miss your friend terribly.” He says, picking at a seam on his shirt. Han stops so abruptly that Leigh, beside him, nearly trips. 

“Leigh, are you  _ jealous _ ?” Han doesn't look offended or angry as he asks, rather, he smiles with a bright look on his face. 

Leigh could deny it, but why? He  _ was _ jealous of this mysterious friend.

“Would it be so surprising?” He says, looking carefully at Han. “I know it hasn't been long, but I can't deny that I-

“Wait.”

Leigh does, feeling the ground drop out from under him. Han’s expression is no longer light, now a pained mix of guilt and anxiousness. Leigh fumbles, desperate to relieve the discomfort he’s caused. 

“Han-”

But Han shakes his head, placing a gentle hand on Leigh’s shoulder. Feeling his stomach drop, Leigh watches, devastated, as the other man curls into himself a little. 

“I need to tell you something, Leigh.” He says softly. 

“Of course.” The brunette says, trying to keep a light tone even as his throat tightens.The way Han speaks sounds so tragic it might as well be a prelude to a goodbye, and Leigh can’t handle that, he  _ can't _ . He feels beyond foolish, but he had been  _ sure  _ that Han had felt the same. 

“I’m not rejecting you, I’m  _ not _ .” Han says, turning to face Leigh fully, something like desperation in his smooth features. “But you have to know that I haven't been fully honest with you.” 

Leigh’s insides turn cold, his imagination running wild. What could be a big enough secret that Han was hiding it? Betrothed to another? Wanted by the law? Quite frankly, Leigh didn't  _ care  _ if Han was some criminal. 

Han gently took Leigh’s hand in his, drawing the brunette back.

“Leigh,” He bgan, pausing and taking a deep breath. “If I wasn't human- if I wasn't even something you fully  _ understood _ , would that frighten you?”

Leigh is frightened, but not for the reason Han probably thinks. What Leigh fears in the moment is some greater power that he doesn't understand, ripping Han away from him when they’ve only just come together. There is a rightness to their close proximity, and he doesn't fully understand it, but he knows it's something to hold onto. He knows there is a rightness to  _ them _ . 

“As long as you’d still travel with me, I don't care.” He answers honestly, squeezing Han’s hand. 

Han looks at him like he's looking for something under his skin, and Leigh tries to open himself impossibly further. He places his other hand overtop their entangled fingers protectively. 

“Then I want to show you something.” Han says, and silently pulls Leigh with him, away from the sparkling lake.

-o-

  
  


Leigh follows Han until the sun dips, and even then they both walk quietly well into the night. The purple-haired man is taking them away from their planned route, down and up hills and into a forest. Leigh watches the shift in the fabric on the fairer man’s back and the way his free fingers curl and uncurl around nothing. His other hand stays securely in Leigh’s, and if nothing else that’s an enormous comfort. When Han finally stops in a small clearing, Leigh's eyes widen at the sight. Ruins expand in all directions, some housing trees and great vines while others remain nearly whole. It’s an entire town, left to sink into the earth. 

“Do you know this place?” Han asks very softly, moving forward and touching the fragile looking marble. 

Leigh looks around at the protruding weeds, the fallen bricks. It's as familiar as any other ruin, masked in decay so that it could have once been anything. Now it's only a somewhat organized pile of rubble, made unique by the way Han places his fingertips on it. 

“No.” Leigh answers truthfully. He feels guilty for not knowing. “I’m sorry.” 

Han doesn't seem surprised by the answer, but he does have that look of something bittersweet. His hair flutters from an invisible breeze for a moment as he looks straight at Leigh. 

“We came here once, together. A long time ago.”

It's an odd sensation for those words to make sense while simultaneously not making sense. 

“How long ago?” Leigh asks, even though he can feel the answer in his bones. He knows before he even knows the truth, like it's been right in front of him the whole time. His fingers reach up automatically to brush his necklace. 

“A lifetime ago.” And as if Han had only just stepped out of the shadows, Leigh  _ sees  _ him. 

Great white wings fanned out from behind him, their edges tipped in star-lit purple and pink, matching the shimmering colors of his hair. His eyes seemed impossibly bluer, and Leigh finally had an adjective to fit his appearance. Han was  _ holy _ . 

“You’re an angel.” Leigh whispers, and that too isn't as much a great realization as it should be. It's only another truth to Han that feels as familiar as a tune, as simple as breathing. And because he’s not nearly as shocked as he probably should be, he grins. “Knew you were too pretty to be human.”

Han lets out a surprised sounding laugh. Leigh takes a step closer, slowly raising his hand and pausing, waiting for permission. When Han nods shyly, Leigh reaches out, brushing his thumb along the silk-like feathers nearest to him. 

“You’re taking this remarkably well.” Han says, smiling boyishly and not quite meeting Leigh’s gaze. 

“Well how do I normally take it? Running for the hills? Falling to my knees in prayer?” Leigh teases, running his fingers down the length of one full wing, marveling at the softness. 

“No, nothing like that. I just, it amazes me. That you’re always  _ fine _ with it.”

Leigh leans in a little closer, trying to see the details of the stars that  _ must _ be hidden in Han’s hair. How could anyone be frightened of a beauty that was this warm? Of a person, regardless of their humanity, who is so sweet and calm and impossibly clever? Surely Han knows that Leigh couldn't be anything  _ other _ than in love with him. 

“Well I am pretty amazing.” Leigh says, because he doesn't know how to convey just how much his heart is bursting. 

Han smacks his shoulder lightly, mouth twisted like he’s trying not to smile. Leigh just laughs, taking the other man’s- the  _ angel’s _ hand. 

“So tell me, what did we do here a lifetime ago, Han?” He asks quietly, tipping his face close enough that his nose nearly brushes Han’s temple. The feathers under his fingers seem to tremble. 

“We ate dinner inside, and a performer sang about love.” Han replies, just as quietly. He turns his head, and their foreheads brush against each other. 

“I could sing to you, but it would probably inspire the opposite feeling of love.”

Han’s shoulders shake with soft laughter, his hand coming up to rest on Leigh’s shoulder.

“You don't need to sing to me. I already love you plenty, Leigh.”

Leigh feels something tender and enormous open in his chest, at those words and the sweet, gentle smile on Han’s face, finally devoid of sadness. He kisses the angel, trying to press on him the softness that was eating him alive. Leigh wants the kiss to ache from sweetness and leave Han feeling like he was the only possible vessel of Leigh’s love. Like everything inside Leigh had just been waiting to come out and hold Han’s hand, because maybe it  _ had _ been waiting. When he pulls back he brings a hand up, carefully tucking a purple strand of pure starlight behind Han’s ear.

He pulls Han close against him, kissing the crown on his head. He closes his eyes and whispers the words  _ I love you _ , because they’re not for the river and forest gods to hear. They’re for Han alone, holding a weight so profound that they will ground him through this life and the next, cherishing him so thoroughly, so completely. 

  
  
  



End file.
